For decades, Buford Pusser’s name was synonymous with courage and justice in rural Tennessee. Immortalized by the 1973 film Walking Tall and its remakes, Pusser’s story was that of a tough, incorruptible sheriff who took on organized crime and paid a heavy price: the murder of his wife, Pauline Mullins Pusser, in an alleged ambush. But a recent cold case investigation has upended that legend, revealing a far more tragic and complicated truth behind the events of August 12, 1967.
According to a sweeping review by the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation (TBI), released at a press conference on Friday, Buford Pusser himself was responsible for his wife’s death. As reported by AP News, ABC News, and other outlets, modern forensic science, newly uncovered evidence, and a fresh autopsy have led authorities to conclude that if Pusser were alive today, prosecutors would seek his indictment for murder. District Attorney Mark Davidson stated, “This case is not about tearing down a legend. It is about giving dignity and closure to Pauline and her family and ensuring that the truth is not buried with time. The truth matters. Justice matters. Even 58 years later. Pauline deserves both.”
The original story, as recounted by Pusser and widely accepted for decades, was dramatic: In the early morning hours, the sheriff and his wife drove out to answer a disturbance call. Pusser claimed that after passing New Hope Methodist Church, a car pulled up and fired multiple shots into their vehicle, killing Pauline and wounding him in the face. He spent 18 days in the hospital and underwent several surgeries. No suspects were ever charged, and the case was closed largely on Pusser’s own statement.
But in 2022, the TBI reopened the cold case as part of a routine review, and what they found was startling. Investigators received a tip about a possible murder weapon and decided to exhume Pauline’s body for a new autopsy. Dr. Michael Revelle, an emergency medicine physician and medical examiner, poured over postmortem photographs, crime scene images, and the original medical examiner’s notes. His findings were damning: Pauline was more likely than not shot outside the car and then placed inside. The cranial trauma she suffered was inconsistent with the interior of the vehicle, and blood spatter on the hood outside the car contradicted Pusser’s statements. Revelle also determined that the gunshot wound on Pusser’s cheek was a close-contact wound—likely self-inflicted—and not the result of a long-range shot as he had described.
“This was a cold case for decades but in 2022 TBI agents took another look at the archive file and coordinated with our office. That work accelerated in 2023 and in 2024, Pauline Mullins Pusser was exhumed for an autopsy,” Davidson explained during the press conference, as reported by ABC News. Investigators also discovered that Pauline had a nasal fracture that had healed prior to her death, a sign commonly associated with domestic violence. Statements from people close to the family at the time further supported the conclusion that Pauline was a victim of intimate partner violence.
The evidence pointed to a staged crime scene. Investigators now believe Pusser shot Pauline outside the car, placed her body inside, and then wounded himself to support his story of an ambush. As Davidson put it, “This appears to be a domestic violence homicide rather than this notion that they were ambushed in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, in 1967 with no streetlights.” The .30 caliber carbine rifle believed to have been used was recovered and tested; while not conclusively proven to be the murder weapon, it was consistent with the firearm that killed Pauline.
The revelations have sent shockwaves through McNairy County and beyond, challenging the mythos built around Pusser. The sheriff, who died in a car crash in 1974 at age 36, had become a folk hero, celebrated in songs, movies, and even local festivals. As AL.com noted, “If Buford Pusser murdered his wife, it means he spent the final years of his life profiting from the lie he crafted to hide the crime and fostered a false legend that outlived him.” The town of Adamsville, which still bears his name on a water tower and hosts a museum in his honor, is now grappling with the implications of the findings. City officials stated they would “carefully review the implications of these findings and determine the appropriate course of action with respect to the Buford Pusser Museum and other related matters.”
The reaction from those who knew the Pussers has been mixed. Pauline’s younger brother, Griffon Mullins, expressed gratitude for the closure the investigation brought, even if it confirmed long-held suspicions. “You would fall in love with her because she was a people person. And of course, my family would always go to Pauline if they had an issue or they needed some advice and she was always there for them,” he said in a recorded statement. “She was just a sweet person. I loved her with all my heart.” Mullins acknowledged he knew there was trouble in Pauline’s marriage but wasn’t totally shocked by the findings. “She wasn’t the type of person to tell you her problems, but I knew deep down there was problems in her marriage,” he reflected.
Others in the community remain skeptical. David Dickey, a pallbearer at Pusser’s funeral, told WKRN, “That’s not the Buford I knew. I loved Buford and his family, so whatever the facts are—they’ll pan out on their own—but I don’t believe it.” The sheriff’s granddaughter, Madison Garrison Bush, whose mother Dwana was the only child Buford and Pauline had together, wrote, “A dead man, who cannot defend himself, is being accused of an unspeakable crime. I don’t understand what justice can be accomplished by pursuing this theory of my grandmother’s death.”
Despite the controversy, officials have emphasized the importance of correcting the historical record. “If Pauline was your sister or your mother, you’d want the record corrected,” Davidson said. The TBI plans to make the entire case file—over 1,000 pages—available to the public after redactions, both in person and through an online, searchable database hosted by the University of Tennessee at Martin. Until then, members of the public can review it in person or request a copy, according to university Chancellor Yancy Freeman Sr.
The investigation into Pauline Pusser’s death not only closes one of Tennessee’s most infamous cold cases, but also forces a community—and a nation—to reckon with the complex legacies of its heroes. For Pauline’s family, the truth, however painful, finally offers a measure of peace after nearly six decades of unanswered questions.
